Wealth of Experience
by Carbon Bond
Summary: Well. If only Daine knew... A new D/N series set six months before "Realms of the Gods", focusing entirely on Numair's delightful sexual frustration. Do enjoy.
1. Prologue

**W E A L T H **_**of **_**E X P E R I E N C E**

_**prologue**_

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The truth of the matter was that he had always loved her.

Not- as tongues had waggled the moment he had appeared with her at Court, leading the then girl by her shoulders when she would have balked in her new finery – as a paramour. Not as a family member, a mentor, or even simply a friend – although the emotion certainly encompassed all three. His love simply was – so natural a part of him that it felt as if it had always been there, long before she had saved his life. It was a simple love that had and needed no label, and it only seemed to grow and deepen each time they passed each other, each time that they spoke. Each time his eyes fell on her.

Perhaps this was why he found the change so jarring.

"Are you all right, Numair?"

Lust had never felt like this before – and he had a wealth of experience with that pleasurable, drug-like sensation. But lust had never brought empty moans to his lips in the dead of night, had never made the planes of his chest and arms feel so hollow, so cold. Lust had never _hurt_.

"Numair?"

It was as if the framework of his affection and devotion for her had been doused in fire, honed by memory and welded to the iron forms of desire already set in his body and mind. Her proximity _burned _him, much like a flame to human skin, even when she was not touching him. And when she did touch him – so freely, without thought or focused intent – the rush of heat could bring him to his knees.

"_Numair_."

The emotion had branded him, and he knew with the absolute certainty of his formidable mind that even were it to fade, that the mark on his heart never would.

"...I am well, Magelet."

Numair Salmalin – the roguish iconoclast, the iniquitous Court Player – had fallen desperately in love with Veralidaine Sarrasri.

And it was agony.

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**So. This is a new, horrendously easy-to-write series that will focus entirely on Numair's sexual frustration during the six months before his lover's admission to Daine in RotG, which I hope will temper my own frustration as I struggle with writing "Lover's Token." So many author's portray Numair as being noble and restrained – and he is, to a point – but the man is admittedly a highly (experienced) sexual being, and I thoroughly plan to expose this.**

**For this reason, after this chapter the story rating will be elevated to "M". Things are about to get steamy.**

**I almost pity Numair. It just seems that we author's live to torment him.**

**BTW – I graduate from student to full vet tech today – a modern day wildmage. : ) Now I just need to find my own Black Robe...**


	2. Her Trust

**W E A L T H **_**of **_**E X P E R I E N C E**

**ONE  
_Her Trust_  
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For the overlooked majority of the world's population, the transition from a girl to a woman was one marked by worldly experience, rather than age.

Of course, "worldly experience" was most often translated to something along the lines of "bridal training" regardless of class or culture, but the fact remained that the Common viewpoint on womanhood (and sex) was leagues ahead in practicality than the Noble.

Put simply: _a girl became a woman when life demanded it._

And life had already demanded a great deal from her.

No – Numair found no moral obstacle to his amorous longings in Daine's youth. Indeed, Daine was far more mature than most of the fully grown women to have eagerly bent themselves over his headboard, being of Common birth like him. More importantly, Daine actually seemed to prefer older men, if her brief relationship with Perin Ashford – one of the palace clerks – was anything to go by. She found experience and accomplishment more attractive than promises and ambition.

These points weighed heavily in his favor, and Numair found himself dwelling on them at inappropriate times, reviewing all the things he would gladly lavish upon her – the things he would introduce her to – if she but asked him...

Her position as his student also proved inconsequential.

Perversely, any relationship that might emerge between him and Daine would actually be _encouraged _by the more conservative aristocracy, as women of the higher classes were often "mentored" by their eventual matches. It was the lower class, in this instance, that frowned upon such "skewed" angles of intention. Caught between the classes – as they both were – Numair did not give this gray area much thought at all.

Far more objectionable to his roiling passion was his friendship with the young woman.

Daine was, in fact, Numair's _best _friend. She _trusted _him - so much so that she thought nothing of his lingering gaze, laughing when others teased her about her protective, black robed shadow. She would enter his rooms late at night to converse with him and to escape the winter's chill, shedding layers of clothing in her comfort, her familiarity – completely unaware of his white knuckled grip on the arms of his chair as she made herself comfortable on his bed.

And she would flirt with him with a confidence only he seemed to engender.

"What – don't _I_ get a kiss?"

Numair sucked in a breath as Onua chortled, pushing him – half stumbling – towards his friend, who looked at him so expectantly and with such devotion and _trust _that his breath shortened even more. There was no way he could refuse her this, and the way his heart and body _leaped _at this chance at intimate contact made him feel like the worst kind of traitor.

"Of course, you do."

Numair took Daine's lovely face in his dark hands and angled it towards his, as he had for Onua and Alanna and Thayet minutes before, but it was with much greater care that his lips closed against her cheek. His eyes closed at the sound of her mirth, aware – _painfully _aware – that with the slightest twitch of his fingers, he would be kissing that laughing mouth instead...

He was uncertain whether to curse or bless the deity that had laid this path of cinders at his feet.

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**Well... I suppose I might have set the story to "slow cook" rather than "flamethrower." But, hey, I have also managed to force in a plot to this character driven work – it will eventually get to that point! So. There you have it.**

**Narrative abused, as always. Thank you for your support.**


	3. Her Proximity

**WEALTH **_**of**_** EXPERIENCE**

**TWO  
Her Proximity  


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"The People call it the 'Big Cold,' you know. Or the 'Great Cold.'"

"An apt description – certainly a better aural presentment than 'winter.'"

She was always with him.

If not in body, then she was in his thoughts. She danced there, along the branching lines of memory and focus, swaying to the tempo of his heart and pulling at the fraying seams of his restraint until he sought her out, or if by some fortune she came to him. In the rare but rapidly increasing times when neither solution was possible – when battle or duty divided their paths – the steps to her dance would smolder, and mark her place within him all the deeper.

The physical reality of Daine was devastating.

Daine turned in the arm he had slung around both her and the terrace bench – a gesture both companionable and helpless on his part – and frowned up at him. Amidst the snow and torchlight she seemed to glow, her breath a silver fog in the night air. "Presentment?"

The warmth from her lips billowed across his jawline, and melted the pinpoints of ice there to a slow gliding caress. "Representation." He was almost trembling in the effort to keep from pulling her closer. Passing by them, a noble couple hid smiles behind fur lined gloves.

It was not that he possessed no control around her; Numair was nothing if not a man of discipline. He needed to be, with the power he wielded. In that, she was more like him than anyone – only her humanity was compromised by the complexity of her nature, not the almost amoral distance of mind and strength that had marked him a maverick, a Player. A threat. Numair knew very well the kind of person he was – or rather, what he had the potential to become – even if she could not see it.

But that was, perhaps, the problem.

Being with Daine – simply being _near _Daine – induced more than fevered thoughts of swallowing her passion, of playing that violin body to a crescendo. The inferno was there, of course, slowly consuming him, but Daine carried her own warmth that was somehow more staggering. Around her, Numair felt as if he really was a good person. That, around her at least, the strict code of ethics which ruled his life was not all artificial.

She was _real_, when everything else in his life seemed indistinct, and shadowy. She could draw the breath from his lungs, set it aflame – and the world would open up a little more to him each time with her swirling at its center.

And he was not the only one who realized it.

"I think – if we can manage it – that we should keep the two of you together," the king had said once, smirking at the mage's warning look. "Mage and Magelet... ha!These days, I cannot separate you even in my _mind_."

This was a sentiment shared by all their close friends, and this was nearly as torturous as the ease in which she rested her head against him now.

Numair _loved _that it was a common sight within the palace for her to walk at his side, taking three steps to match his one as they discussed the matters of the day. He _loved _that, whenever he entered a circle or a meeting, Daine would smile and point to a spot beside her that she and the others had saved for him. He _loved_ that when her name was mentioned, it was now always in association with his own.

"What – " He swallowed the question he had been about to ask. " - do they call spring?"

Daine shrugged, her eyes on the ghostly moon lazing on the horizon. "A lot of things. We have more seasons than humans. The People do, I mean." She shook her head slightly, and tucked herself more securely against his chest. "Fall is still 'Fall,' though."

"I see..."

He loved so much, did Numair Daine, that he would break his own heart before ever losing hers.

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**Fitting dialog with a vague plot and style-overblown narrative is a struggle, to say the least. I started this project in an attempt to fine tune Numair's voice – and I feel that I am getting better at it – but as with Lover's Token, it is... difficult. But, my frustration has spawned yet another take on Numair and Daine's personalities (no doubt that one-shot will be out before the next chapter), so I suppose it all rounds out.**


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